


Sloane Loses A Fight

by finx



Series: It's All Fun And Games Until Someone Loses A kKsHKssShKsskK [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, F/F, In Which sloane and the gaia sash yell at each other a lot, Non-Graphic Violence, and nothing goes according to plan, pretty minor ones though, spoilers through Petals to the Metal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finx/pseuds/finx
Summary: Sloane is done being the Raven, done with the sash, and done with its endless empty promises. But the sash isn't done with her.





	Sloane Loses A Fight

Sloane sat in the vault, quiet as a statue, atop a literal pile of riches. Ostentatious, yes, but she was making a statement here. She’d pulled all the precious artefacts off their pedestals, spilled the gold coins and uncut jewels out of their chests, torn the tapestries off the walls, and scooped it all into a messy pile in the center of the small room. It barely came up to her waist, even when she padded it with the empty chests of gold. The richest miser in Goldcliff, so paranoid he’d rather pay for his own security than make use of the vaults in the Goldcliff Trust, and all his treasures didn’t even stack up to Sloane’s waist. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, or maybe just some sad irony, but Sloane was too tired to look for it.

The Raven mask was soft against her face, the familiar press of it against her cheeks almost comforting. She’d laid the sash out on her knees, and was stroking it gently, absently. She was going to give it up. She was going to give it all up, give herself up, just… give up.

“Is this really what you want?” the sash asked. It sounded disgruntled, exasperated, like she was an unruly toddler making a scene in the street, but she was viciously pleased to hear a note of desperation, too. “You know I can give you what you really want, Sloane. I can give you anything. Come on, Sloane. Tell me. What do you really want?”

Sloane’s fingers tightened on the sash. Her eye fell on a ruby necklace by her feet, red jewels dripping from a silver chain. Hurley would look amazing in rubies.

But Hurley never wore jewelry, and besides, Hurley didn’t want anything from her.

Sloane’s hands curled into fists around the sash, gripping it so tight that its seams bit into her palms. “I want to be free of you,” she growled.

“Now come on,” said the sash, “you know that’s not true. You want to use me, Sloane, you want to feel the wind in your hands and the earth at your call. You want that power, Sloane. You know you do. Put me on, and it’s yours.”

“There is nothing you can give me.”

“I can give you EVERYTHING!” the sash roared, and suddenly its voice was booming in her mind, echoing like cannonfire against the inside of her skull. Sloane reflexively clapped her hands against her ears, but it was no use. “I can make you a GOD,” the sash shouted. “Wield me, Sloane, and there is nothing in this or any plane that could stand against you!”

Sloane’s head was going to explode. She whimpered from the pain of it, and the sound felt unnaturally loud—it should have been drowned out by the sash, but the sash’s voice existed only in her mind. “It’s only in my mind,” she whispered to herself, latching onto the thought. “It’s not real.”

“I AM THE MOST REAL THING IN THIS UNIVERSE!” the sash bellowed. “Now _put. Me. ON.”_

Sloane’s hands moved of their own volition, wrapping the sash around her waist. “Stop,” she begged, as the sash pulled tight. Her voice broke, tears welling up at the horror of it all. “Let me go, please, just let me go.”

“Don’t fight this, Sloane,” the sash murmured, calmer now that it was triumphant. “You want this.”

“No,” Sloane protested, weak and wrung out. Her hands trembled, holding the ends of the sash. It was all she could do to keep them in place. She knew that if she knotted those ends together, tied the sash in place, she would never be able to untie it again.

Hurley’s face flashed in her memory, furious and betrayed. Hurley wanted nothing from her. Hurley wanted nothing to do with her. If the sash couldn’t fix that, it couldn’t fix anything.

“No!” She threw the sash at the wall. “You’re not stronger than me,” she screamed at it.

A voice came from the vault door. “Uh… Raven? What’s going on?”

Sloane’s head snapped around. Captain Bain was standing in the doorway, half-hidden behind the thick vines she’d grown to get rid of the vault door. He held a crossbow awkwardly in front of him, like he couldn’t decide between pointing it at her or laying it down on the floor to show he meant no harm.

She’d had a script, all planned out in her head. She struggled to remember it. It definitely hadn’t started with the captain walking in on her screaming at an article of clothing. She tried for a lazy grin. From the way Captain Bain took a step back, it must have looked more like a threat.

“What does it look like, Cap?” She spread her arms wide. “I’m turning myself in.”

“Ooo…kay.” Captain Bain raised the crossbow a little. “Come… come quietly, and there won’t be any trouble.”

Sloane stood up, keeping her hands out to either side. She glanced past Captain Bain, but the hallway behind him was empty. “Where’s Hurley?” she asked.

“She didn’t come in to work today.”

Sloane went cold. Hurley hated missing work. “Is she okay?”

Captain Bain didn’t answer. He wasn’t looking at her anymore—he was looking at the sash, where it lay crumpled on an empty shelf. “Cap?” Sloane asked warily. “Is Lieutenant Hurley okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Captain Bain said distractedly. “She called in sick. There’s a… a bug going around…”

Captain Bain stepped inside the vault. Sloane watched him uneasily. This was what she’d wanted, right? She’d turn the sash over to the police, and they’d lock it away where it couldn’t get to anyone anymore.

The captain’s whole body was oriented toward the sash. He took another step toward it, ignoring Sloane completely. His head was cocked, as if he were listening to someone.

“Cap,” Sloane said nervously, “I think you should stop right there. Don’t—don’t come any closer.” She took a step forward, and without looking, Captain Bain swung his crossbow up to point straight at her chest.

Sloane was suddenly acutely aware of how vulnerable she was without the sash. She was a thief, not even a rogue—she didn’t wear any real armor, much less something that would stop a crossbow bolt from two feet away. Without the sash, she was defenseless.

But Captain Bain didn’t know that. Sloane took a deep breath, and tore her eyes away from the sharp point of the crossbow bolt pointed right at her squishiest organs. Then she tried to channel all the power and fury of the sash at its most terrible, and bellowed, “Captain Bain! I said _stop right there.”_

Captain Bain stopped. He stared at her, surprised, as if he’d forgotten she was even there. Sloane tilted her head a fraction, so her mask would catch the light from the hall lamps and make her seem eerily inhuman, and moved forward, trying to convey menace with every line of her body. Captain Bain stumbled back a step, and then another, as Sloane advanced on him. Then his eyes darted to the sash again.

Sloane saw on his face the moment he decided to risk it.

Sloane lunged for the sash. Her fingers closed on it just as Captain Bain tackled her, throwing her into the hard wooden shelves, slamming painfully into her ribs. He was stronger than her, and a trained fighter besides.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

The moment her fingers touched the fabric, power coursed through her like lightning. Every inch of her burned with the raw strength of it. It felt like flying. It felt like dying. It felt like being whole again.

She called, and the winds came. They circled her in a sudden maelstrom, screaming like the damned. Captain Bain was pulled away from her and flung against a wall. The pile of miscellaneous riches exploded into a hail of golden missiles. The empty shelves rattled against the walls; the walls themselves shook and cracked.

Through it all, Sloane remained untouched. The wind tugged at her clothes and ruffled the feathers of her mask, but she was the eye of the storm, and the winds belonged to her.

At her command, they quieted. Gold coins and precious gems fell to the floor in a glittering rain. The sash was tied snugly around her waist. Sloane had no memory of putting it on, but she wasn’t surprised. She knew, with grim certainty, that she wouldn’t be able to take it off again.

Captain Bain was sprawled against the opposite wall, dazed but still conscious. He was watching her, panting heavily, making no move to get up, and Sloane was struck by how weak he was. He had given up so quickly, so easily. It would be so easy to destroy him. She could reduce him to nothing with the slightest whim—

That wasn’t her thought. Sloane narrowed her eyes. “No killing, remember?”

“So who said anything about killing?” the sash said sulkily. “I’m just trying to make a point here about power, vis a vis, you having it and everyone else being ants beneath your feet.”

“I thought you liked ants,” Sloane grumbled, and turned away from the prone captain. “Didn’t you give me a whole spiel about all living things being connected?”

There was a militia squadron lining the corridor outside the vault, crossbows pointed at the open door. At least half of them fired as Sloane emerged from the vault. She reached out to the crossbow bolts and filled them with the wild living magic of the sash. They sprouted leaves and branches, turning from dead wood to tiny bushes in midair, and fell to the floor in a patter of leaves against stone floor.

“Well, yeah,” said the sash. “But some are more connected than others, you feel me?”

Sloane called, and the clouds came. The hallway was suddenly in a fog so dense it was suffocating. The militia soldiers cried out in shock and flung themselves blindly at her, or rather at the spot where she had been. Sloane stepped to the side as soon as the fog descended, and listened to the cops crash into each other. “I think you’re full of shit,” she informed the sash.

The sash scoffed. “And I think you’re just mad cause I proved you wrong.”

The fog parted in front of her, showing her a clear path around the fumbling cops. “What are you talking about?” she sneered as she sidestepped a flailing fist.

“I am stronger than you,” the sash said smugly.

Sloane opened her mouth to retaliate, and couldn’t find the words. She grit her teeth against the bitter taste of failure, and told herself she was imagining the sash’s faint laughter. “You wish,” she finally said, but there was no force behind it.

She reached the end of the hallway and peeked into the stairwell beyond. It was empty, but there would be cops stationed on the roof and on the floor below. She didn’t know if there were any other exits. She hadn’t cased the place properly – she’d thought that this time, she’d be leaving in handcuffs.

“Let’s not fight,” the sash said, almost gently. “I’m not your enemy. Look at how powerful you are, wielding me.”

She could make short work of the guards, with the sash’s help. She could walk right out the front door, and they wouldn’t even be able to slow her down. She could cut through them like a scythe through a field, like a shark through a sea of minnows, like a _god—_

Sloane shook her head violently. “You shut up,” she snarled under her breath. There was a window in the stairwell, right in front of her. She stepped forward, and pulled herself up onto the windowsill.

“I’m just trying to help,” the sash wheedled. “There’s something you want, Sloane, more than anything else in the world. All I want is to give it to you. You know I can give it to you. Because” – its crooning voice turned smug – “I’m the most powerful thing in the whole world.”

“There’s nothing you can give me,” she said again. Hurley’s voice echoed in her memory, filled with anger and frustration and all of Sloane’s worst fears. _I don’t want anything from you._

She’d known it would hurt, when Hurley came to her senses. She’d always known it couldn’t last forever, a petty crook like her and someone so fundamentally good as Hurley. She’d known it would hurt, but she hadn’t known it would feel like drowning, like all the light was gone from the world, like her insides had been scooped out and replaced with a howling void of agony.

No matter how powerful it was, the sash couldn’t fix that.

Sloane called, and the birds came. Hawks and eagles and ravens, so many ravens that the sky was black with them. Sloane held out her hands and vines grew from them, curling around her torso and climbing up into the air. The birds grabbed the trailing ends and took off, dozens upon dozens of birds pulling her into the sky. It hurt, the vines constricting around her chest like a vice, but Sloane knew she’d be fine. The sash wasn’t about to let her die.

“You see?” the sash said softly. “You’re a god among mortals. You and me, together? We’re unstoppable.”

Sloane grit her teeth and didn’t answer. The birds carried her over the city in her makeshift harness, and the sash whispered its endless promises in her ear.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be part of a longer work that never got written, hence the bit about Hurley being sick. She's not sick, she's heartbroken - she and Sloane had a big fight and they're both devastated. I wish I could say that they see each other again and work it all out, but, well...we all know how this arc goes. This fic was always going to be a tragedy.


End file.
